


who do you love (is it him or me?)

by swisstae



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesiac Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flashbacks, Jealous Bucky Barnes, Jealous Steve Rogers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Author Regrets Everything, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22210852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swisstae/pseuds/swisstae
Summary: It’s funny, he thinks in retrospect - he’d never been much afraid of death. Not his own, definitely not anyone else’s. There was even a point in time when he wanted death to take him; had evencravedit, like a dying man craves redemption.But when death comes for Tony Stark, it’s nothing like he’d ever imagined, much less expected.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 87
Collections: StarkSpangledWinter Wonderland Event





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SFW Prompt 16  
> NSFW Prompt 21  
> NSFW Prompt 45
> 
> I regret everything.
> 
> title is taken from WHO DO U LOVE? by Monsta X

It’s funny, he thinks in retrospect - he’d never been much afraid of death. Not his own, definitely not anyone else’s. There was even a point in time when he wanted death to take him; had even _craved_ it, like a dying man craves redemption. 

But when death comes for Tony Stark, it’s nothing like he’d ever imagined, much less expected. 

— 

_10 Hours Ago_

Tony slipped into the room silently, his footsteps a whisper on the lush carpeted floor. He quickly stripped his shirt and sweatpants, baring the arc reactor as it lit up the room in a soft blue glow. He climbed gently into bed, taking care to not jostle Steve, as he laid down on his side, admiring the view under the cold blue of the arc reactor’s light. Steve was dead asleep, having tired himself out training all the SHIELD trainees, and then dealing with the weird sludge monster that had cropped up downtown - he was sprawled out all over the blankets, his face smushed into the pillow in such a way that Tony knew would leave him with creases and a bedhead that would take forever to comb into shape. 

Tony grinned to himself, a quick sudden thing, that left him slightly unmoored - the rush of affection he felt for this man was still a new sensation, but he wasn’t going to try and mess this up, not even if he wanted to _push_ it, _push_ it until this fragile new connection between them shattered to pieces. The universe had granted him this chance, and he was not going to fuck up his relationship with Steve Rogers, no matter how much he felt he didn’t deserve it. Because finally, that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? He flopped back against the pillows, and sighed. He was Tony Stark, and he was dating Steve Rogers. Steve and Tony. _SteveAndTony_. They’d been through hell and back together, they’d be able to brave whatever else came between them, be it monsters and aliens or his own insecurities. 

He propped himself up on one hand and mapped out Steve’s long lashes; the straight hook of his nose; the fine, chiseled cheekbones and his full, plush lips with his gaze - God, he was beautiful, really. Watching Steve so pliant and relaxed would never get old. He smiled at Steve again, a rare, genuine albeit small smile, this time stretching it out for more than a few quick seconds. He was going to _try_ , dammit, even if it damn near killed him. He placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and settled back against the pillows and drifted off to sleep, curled up against his lover. 

— 

_8 Hours Ago_

Tony twitched, his breaths fast and shallow, his toes curling reflexively as he dreamt of _dry dust_ and _shards of glass_ and _splotches of ruby red across his chest_ and just the desperate clawing emotion of _drowningdrowningdrowning_ , under the weight of the hands pushing him down, holding him there. He was going to _die_ here, they were too careless with the electromagnet, and he could hear their laughs as he gasped for breath under the unforgiving chill of his watery grave. He was going to _die_ , and the worst part would be that no one _cared_. Tony had cried then, soundless tears of sorrow and rage and the feeling of such _helplessness_ , that he couldn’t save himself from the monsters inside his head. 

_Stark men are made of iron, Tony,_ he could hear his father saying as the lines between worlds started to merge together, at the brink of death. _Stark men are not afraid. Do not show them any weakness, or they will kill you._ Tony had grinned grotesquely, as they pulled him out of the water to ask him to make the Jericho in harsh, angry tones, his teeth bloody and face gaunt. His tears mixed with the water they forced him into, his lungs constricting with the added pressure of the arc reactor, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he keeled over from hunger and exhaustion. 

_I am going to die here._

There were more men, yelling at him, gunshots and explosions ringing in his ears and - “Tony!” The cave came into focus, as he was forced to sit up, spitting blood to the side, the action making him lose his balance further - “Tony!” He couldn’t make out much, they must have thrown the sack back over his head - “Tony, honey, wake up!” - smelling of beer and spit and sand, and suddenly the whole world began to _shake_ around him - “Tony, _god help me,_ wake up sweetheart, you’re having a nightmare, please!” 

Tony jerked awake, bloodshot eyes snapping open as he raised his right arm in the imitation of a repulsor blast - only to find Steve hovering over him, ashen-faced, his blond hair sticking up at an impossible angle.

“Tony, baby, you’re in New York, it’s five, uh forty seven in the morning and you’re in Avengers Tower with me, Steve Rog-“ and he only got so far before Tony reeled him in and kissed him desperately. He clung to Steve, hands gripping his strong shoulders, moving his lips frantically as he tried to grasp the fact that _this_ was real, that this was where he was, in bed with his gorgeous boyfriend - not hundreds of miles away in a cave that smelled like sweat and death. 

He pulled away after some time, resting his forehead on Steve’s. It definitely wasn’t their first rodeo, but it had been a while since his nightmares had dragged him in so deep that he couldn’t snap out of them fast enough. Steve placed his large hands on either side of Tony’s face, and gently stroked his cheekbones, surreptitiously wiping away the tears that trailed down his face. He smiled at Tony, a soft, broken, brittle smile that had Tony’s gut wrenching with agony, because he knew what would come next. It was a ritual of sorts, to offer information before divulging your own - something both of them appreciated when being on the receiving end of their nightly terrors. 

“Some days, I don’t know what to say to anyone about my nightmares. The ones about Bucky are about pain and loss and _guilt_ , that’s what they all say - but no one can tell me what to do about the ice,” Steve chuckled, a humorless sound. “Hundreds of thousands of tonnes of shifting, cracking _ice_ that formed around me, parts of it when I was still conscious. The serum allowed me to survive, but sometimes I used to wonder if it would have been better if I’d just died in there, buried where no one would find me.” 

Tony heard the pain in his voice. It was true, no one could relate to Steve’s experience - losing seventy years of your life, coming back to a world that had aged while you hadn’t. For all they joked about Steve being a man out of time, it was an experience no one would wish on their worst enemy. He leaned forward, balancing on his knees as he pulled Steve closer, hugging him tightly. Steve tucked his head into the junction between Tony’s shoulder and neck, breathing in deeply - only to pull back sharply as the door was flung open. 

“Tony! Ste- Oh.” Bucky stood there, a sheepish look on his face as he brushed back his hair with his metal arm, clutching the knob tightly in his other hand. 

Steve was the first to recover. “Bucky? What are you doing here?” 

“Just- uh, came in to check on you guys.” Bucky shuffled his feet, head ducked in an uncharacteristic show of shyness. Bucky was nervous, Tony realised. But of what? The question answered itself, as Bucky started to explain, hands spread out in that _aw shucks_ gesture him and Steve liked to make, “Well, actually, I had JARVIS set up an alarm for me whenever any of you had nightmares.” Tony stared at him, flabbergasted. Bucky has an alarm set for his nightmares? “Usually, both of you manage to wake each other up within thirty seconds or so, but this time it took much longer than a minute, so- “ He trails off, the rest clear in the forced shrug of his shoulders. 

Which - Huh. Murder Doll was worried about him. He hadn’t thought that Bucky thought about him beyond the fact that he was his best friend’s boyfriend. It wasn’t as though he was deluded about his camaraderie with Bucky, they were friends enough - but he’d thought that was more for Steve’s benefit than his own. He was just the consolation prize whenever Steve was too busy. Which, as he turned to look at Bucky’s rapidly shuttering face as the frantic light in his eyes dimmed, may not have been an entirely accurate estimate. 

“I just- Anyway, it looks like it’s all sorted out so I’ll just- “ Bucky stabbed the air with his thumb, jerking backwards as he turned to leave, already halfway out of the door, when Tony whispered, with a touch of desperation in his voice -

“Wait. Stop. Buckaroo, you can come in.” 

Bucky turned to stare at him, his eyes wide and unsure, as they took in the way Steve was curled around Tony. He opened his mouth again, no doubt to object against his being here, but Tony beat him to it. 

“Come on in, we’ve got space. And chips. Steve, we have chips right?” 

Steve smiled at him indulgently, the soft curve of his lips twisting up as he leaned down to kiss Tony on the forehead. He twisted further so that blankets pooled around his waist fell to the ground in a heap, as he rose from the bed in one sinuous movement. 

“I’ll get the chips,” Steve motioned to Bucky, eyebrows raising as he took in how he clutched the doorknob anxiously. “Bucky, sit your ass down and hug my boyfriend.” 

Tony studied his hands casually, picking at his fingernails, very pointedly not watching Bucky move across the floor to the bed. The bed dipped, dislodging Tony slightly as Bucky perched onto the bed, trying very hard to not look as though he was considering bolting from the room in that very second. As Tony watched through lowered eyelashes, Bucky suddenly turned his head and looked straight at him. “What do you usually do? After you’ve had one?” 

And he looked so goddamn earnest, like a puppy with those big blue eyes, that Tony couldn’t help but bite his lip at the sudden affection arising for him. He swallowed, and began tentatively, “Steve and I - we usually talk to each other about it. He’ll tell me about his, and if I want to, I can tell him about mine.” He took a breath, watching Bucky’s reactions hesitantly. “He just told me about one. Now either I tell him about mine and we watch crappy reality TV until we both fall asleep, or - I don’t tell him, and we watch crappy reality TV until we both fall asleep.” He looked up again, toying with the hem of his shirt, and to his surprise, Bucky was grinning at him, his face lit up in amusement. God, that smile felt like a punch to the gut. Bucky was far too fucking pretty, especially for five in the morning. 

“Okay, so you gonna tell me, or shall we skip to the main event? I didn’t watch the last part of Say Yes To The Dress, and I kind of want to know which dress Andy chose.” 

“Oh yeah.”

Tony grinned back, his nightmare pushed to the back of his mind for the moment, as he called JARVIS to queue up the episode Bucky wanted. _Later,_ he thought, _later I’ll tell them both everything._

— 

_2 Hours Ago_

Steve woke up, his internal alarm blaring as he realised that he’d slept way past his usual time. It had to be midmorning by now, the sun streaming through the drapes, casting wayward shadows on Tony - and Bucky. 

Maybe it should have irritated him, that Tony had an arm draped across Bucky’s waist, that Bucky was tucked into the crook of Tony’s neck, breathing soft gentle sighs that ruffled his hair at the nape of his neck ever so slightly. Did that mean there was something wrong with him? That he didn’t mind that his boyfriend was basically plastered to another man? 

But Bucky wasn’t just another man. He was Bucky, Bucky Barnes, Steve’s best friend since they were both seven years old. He’d known Bucky longer than he’d known anyone, and to think that they both had a chance to live in the future, seventy five years hence, was a miracle in itself. He - he _trusted_ Bucky with Tony. Tony was one of the few good things the universe had decided to give him, and let him keep, for about a year now. He wasn’t going to waste that chance away, not like he’d done with Peggy. 

He gazed at them, feeling a sense of calm flood him as he lay back onto his pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Things could be much, much worse. 

— 

_0 Hours Ago_

“Did you tempt fate again, Steve?” Tony yelled, as he blasted the Doombot with his repulsor, the mechanical filters doing nothing to hide how tired he was. He still managed to sound equal parts outraged and amused, as though anything about this situation could be considered funny. 

Well - perhaps the tempting fate part may have been true, to a certain extent. He’d taken up a sort of habit of sailing far too close to the wind, trying to wind up the universe by being happy and then having it take that sanctity away from him. Maybe it wasn’t the most healthy way to cope, but no one could possibly think that a twenty-five year old man, who was also born in 1918, could possibly benefit from modern therapy no matter how advanced it was now. It was the least self-destructive thing he could think of, and Tony tried to help him out as much as he could. He fought down a sudden wave of affection for the man, throwing the shield and watching it careen into a Doombot before boomeranging back to him. 

“Kind of. Probably should’ve left it for when we had enough sleep, yeah?” 

“God, Cap, I really don’t need to know what you and Tony get up to in the bedroom, please try and keep it PG in here, some of us are trying to actually fight- oh, Cap, incoming!” Clint’s exasperated voice turned panicky as Steve turned to see a Doombot fly up behind him, but before he could do anything, it clamped down manacles on both of his arms, and lifted him into the air. Steve struggled to get free, but this one looked slightly different from the rest of them. He couldn’t snap the handcuffs - not only were they in midair, but the metal was too strong for him to simply snap, which only begged the question: where the hell had Doom gotten his hands on vibranium? 

The chatter on the comms increased exponentially, but being jerked about mid-air meant that Steve missed most of the conversation, too busy trying to get off before the altitude change hit him. He caught the tail-end of Tony’s urge for Thor to blast the area with lightning, and Clint’s equally panicked response of someone still being in the air. Was Tony still mid-flight? God, he was going to be in for it if he didn’t immediately clear the area - oh. _Steve_ was still in flight. 

And then lightning crackled in the corner of his eye, and he dropped to the ground like a stone, his last thought ringing in his mind like a prayer - _God, Tony, I’m so sorry._

— 

Even as he told Thor to bring down his lightning, he knew that there was something very wrong. He’d made it to the edge of the rooftop Clint was perched on, just as the archer gestured wildly over to him, waving his hands in the distance to where Steve was mid-air - _shit._

_Shit._

Just as the lightning sizzled down next to him, he was off, flying desperately to grab Steve before he fell to the ground. Pushing his thrusters to the maximum, even as JARVIS warned him about the consequences to the armour after the recent lightning strike, he flew as fast as was possible without breaking the armour apart, but he was still too late. 

— 

The after was a blur. 

The sickening thud that Steve’s body made as he connected with the concrete pavement played like a feedback loop in his mind, his blue eyes glassy and distant as blood pooled from the back of his head. He’d cried, he thought distantly; hopeless, desperate tears burning down his face as he attempted to swallow the bile that had arisen in the back of his throat. 

Steve wasn’t dead. He knew that. 

But then why, _why_ did it feel so fucking terrible, _why_ did it feel like a part of him had shrivelled up and died when he saw Steve hit the ground? 

Was this death? Or was this love? 

There was a point in time when he’d craved for both. He’d coveted each stolen glance or intimate moment, each brush with death as a learning experience for something lasting, whether it was the bloom of a relationship, or the green thorns of lonely death. 

He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to know anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thanks [@PinkGold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGold/pseuds/PinkGold) and [@Skye_wyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_wyr) for helping me go through this
> 
> slight warning for Tony angst

Bucky stormed into the medical bay, eyes glinting with murderous intent. He strode down the white clinical hallway, smelling heavily of antiseptic to mask the metallic scent of blood. God, this place was the worst of them all - there was a reason he didn’t like going to medical, and why no one liked to push him. He paused slightly as a familiar face strode into view, and quirked up a lip. This was going to be interesting. 

“Fury.” 

Nick Fury turned around, eyebrow raised in obvious disdain for the Winter Soldier walking down his pristine corridors. “What are you doing here, Barnes? Thought we’d have to drag you in here one of these days, kicking and screaming.”

“No offense intended, Sir, but I’d like to see you try.” Bucky grinned at him, sharp and pointed. He was the Winter Soldier. Nothing fazed him, especially not condescending SHIELD directors who believed that he was a threat and should stay in SHIELD, instead of with the Avengers. “Where’s Steve? I need to see him.” 

“Now, you know you don’t have clearance to see the Captain, not when he’s gravely injured-“ 

“Gravely injured, he says. Y’know what, take a stick and shove it up your ass, Fury, if you’re gonna be so damn uptight about everything.” Bucky rolls his eyes, already moving ahead to where he knew Steve would be. SHIELD really liked their routines too much to be a successful secret spy organisation. “You really think I’ll try and take out Steve, especially when he’s ‘gravely injured’? The fucker would probably just get up and whoop my ass for trying to take him down. He’s much more of a dumbass than you realise!” He wiggled his fingers at Fury sardonically, as he turned the corner, rolling his eyes again. Fury was irritatingly obnoxious, to the point where Bucky had joined Tony and Clint in making the man frazzled beyond belief with their antics. 

He pushed open the door of Steve’s room - only to stop short. Tony had beaten him to it, he thought wryly; the man still dressed in his armour, his left hand intertwined with Steve’s on his bed. He stepped forward, noting the intensity of the grip, and the way Tony had removed only the left gauntlet to be able to connect to Steve. 

Bucky smiled down at Tony, a soft, sad smile that hinted at just how much his heart was breaking at seeing the man like this. Steve would be fine, the punk that he was - even so, he stole a glance at the monitors, noting that his vitals were stable. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Sure, Tony and Steve were together now - he’d missed his chance by like, seventy years - but he could never stop loving Steve.

He’d loved him before he knew what love was - before he knew that the sharp ache in his gut, like someone twisting a knife in him whenever someone would compliment Steve, was his own need to protect and love and cherish him. After the serum, everyone wanted to know Steve, to understand and love him the way Bucky has always wanted them to; but by then, it was too late. Serum or no serum, he loved _Steve Rogers_ \- whether it was five foot four skinny punk Steve, or six foot tall ripped Captain America. He would go to the ends of the earth, fight a dozen wars, even go back to HYDRA - all for him. But now he was just Steve’s best friend. And he would gladly retain the position if it was the last thing he ever did for the man. 

He took a deep breath, fortifying himself. He ran a hand through his hair and placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder, gently shaking the man awake. What he was not prepared for, was Tony’s bloodshot eyes snapping open and his right arm raised to blast him with his repulsors. Bucky froze, fighting to keep every part of his body as still as possible, to counter his innate urge to _neutralise target_ and _execute: kill sequence_ on people who posed a threat. 

Luckily, within a few seconds, Tony seemed to realise where he was, and lowered his hand sheepishly, closing his eyes as he recovered from the adrenaline boost. Bucky started to move incrementally, something he always did in order to make sure that no latent reflexes would catch the other person off-guard. Once he was convinced he could move without harming Tony, he straightened up and made a move to reach out his hand to Tony - only to pause, as he saw the look on Tony’s face as he gazed at Steve. 

He swallowed, suddenly feeling as he did when he’d burst into Tony’s penthouse after JARVIS alerted him about his nightmares. He didn’t belong here, he wasn’t supposed to be part of this - _Tony’s fingers curling around Steve’s, his eyes wet with unshed tears_ \- he was an intruder, plain and simple. He’d almost turned to leave, unable to feel anything beyond his heart shattering, something he didn’t know was still possible, until he was stopped in his tracks by Tony calling out in a low voice - “Have you ever felt like this?” 

Bucky froze. What was he talking about? He didn’t know, did he? 

Tony let out a sharp laugh, hollow and grating, that echoed in the silence of the room. “This, this overwhelming urge to consume and be consumed? This passion and frenzy and this horrible, horrible clamp around my heart that seems to squeeze tighter every time I take a breath and he still hasn’t opened his eyes?” Tony tapped his chest and the armour crawled back into his clothes. He rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly looking much older than he was; wrinkles standing out against the harsh white light of the med-room. 

Bucky could almost taste the fraught anxiety that Tony was emanating, the sting of desperation bitter on his tongue. “Tony.. His vitals are fine, he’s stable now, and there’s no major injury that the serum can’t fix within 24 hours.” It was for naught, because Tony didn’t even seem to hear him, too wrapped up in Steve to let anything come between them. 

“I don’t know what this is,” and it’s whispered into the still air between them, soft and unsure, like Tony doesn’t realise he’s said something at all. “Why does it feel like I can’t breathe, why do I need him to wake up and smile at me and say everything is okay?” His voice is low and gravelly, erring on this side of instability, his eyes overbright as he finally broke away from Steve’s side and turned to face Bucky. “Is this what _love_ is? Is this what it feels like?” Tony’s voice shakes, brimming with anger and sorrow and heartache, as he moves forward to encroach on Bucky’s personal bubble. “Is this what it’ll always feel like? Like a part of me just shrivelling up and dying when I see him getting hurt? Because I _can’t,_ Bucky, I can’t do this. I can’t love someone so much that it feels like I’m dying when they are.” Tony has him by the collar now, his hands trembling as he clutches at the lapels of Bucky’s jacket. “I _love_ him, Bucky, I love Steve Rogers,” and the weight of that admission seems to finally take a toll on him, as Tony sags, his tears finally having made their way across his gaunt cheekbones, shuddering into Bucky’s shoulder. 

Bucky raises an arm and pulls him into a hug, suddenly feeling far too close to tears himself. He had to shake himself up, and breathe and remember that this was for _Tony._ He needed him here, and he needed Bucky to be strong for him, where he couldn’t. 

“Bucky?” and he knows that voice, would recognize it anywhere, even when it’s weak and battered up like it is right now. He frees Tony from his grasp to move towards Steve, intending to berate him for his utter recklessness (Really, what was new? Once a dumbass, always a dumbass.) but Tony beat him to it, disentangling from their embrace quicker than Bucky would’ve thought possible, and grasping Steve’s hand desperately. 

“Honey, how’re you feeling? Does it hurt? I mean, of course it does, you were an idiot to not say anything on the comms, and we almost just killed you! Thor’s been crying all day, and Nat had to keep him occupied by taking him to see Jane. Which reminds me - we should let her just come live in the Tower, right?” Tony babbles on inanely, his focus fixed on Steve, trying to urge him into a response. 

Something's not quite right, though - Steve doesn’t seem to be registering anything Tony is saying, and his gaze is fixed on Bucky. He looks _frightened_ , not to mention entirely lost, his eyebrows furrowed in wonder and suspicion as he opens his mouth to speak, Bucky almost instinctively cowering because he knows that whatever comes next will destroy the fragility of this situation. 

“Who are you? How did- Bucky, you _died._ You fell off the train, but you’re here - you have a metal arm? What the fuck is going on here?”

Tony steps back, his face suddenly losing its easy open glow, as he holds up a hand. “Easy there, sweetheart, it’s just us. Bucky is here, I’m here, you’re in SHIELD for a medical. Do you remember?” 

Bucky pulled Tony by the arm, dragging him behind himself reflexively, to shield him from the blow he knew was coming next. Steve furrowed his brow further, as though he could not, for the life of him, figure out what the hell was happening here. 

“Howard?” 

Tony lurches back as though he’s been shot, his expression crumpling in seconds, as he takes in a shuddering breath. He looked so _vulnerable,_ his mouth open in disbelief as he stared at Steve, shooting him a searching look. 

Evidently not finding anything other than bewilderment and fear, Tony’s entire body language changes. He stands up straighter, transforming from soft, sweet, vulnerable Tony to Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. His eyes are flat and blank, curiously devoid of any emotion as Bucky turns to him, regret pooling in his gut. He gently steers Tony over to the exit, passing him off to Clint, who was standing guard outside. 

God bless him, Tony didn’t even put up a fight when Bucky shepherded him out, but that bothered him more than he wanted it to. A quiet Tony was never a good thing. 

But he had to attend to Steve first. 

__

“Bucky? Is that really you?” and he sounds so hesitant, so _afraid_ as though this would all be a dream, that Bucky doesn’t have it in him to stay away any longer. He sits in the chair that Tony had been curled up in, and Steve desperately clutches his hand, looking only mildly surprised that he’d caught the metal one in his palms. “Buck, what’s going on? This doesn’t look- How long has it been?” 

And there it was. Steve had always been perceptive, more so after the serum, and he must have already catalogued the differences in the room, the supremely advanced technology; nothing they could have achieved within ten or even fifteen years after he’d crashed the stupid plane. It wasn’t as though they were trying to hide it, after all, no one could have anticipated that he’d lose his memories. 

He sighed, fingers relaxing in Steve’s grip. Was this how they’d felt like, trying to tell Steve he’d woken up in a completely different century to the one he was living in but five minutes prior? Pursing his lips, he swallowed and said, as gently as he possibly could, “It’s been 75 years, kid.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, these chapters just seem to get shorter. Hope it's still good enough.  
> Mild warning for description of blood, but it's nothing major (so just skim over the first 50 words or so if it squicks you out)

It’s been over a week, and Tony still hasn’t come out of his workshop. Bucky tries over and over to override his blackout mode to no avail, as JARVIS refuses to let him in, albeit grudgingly. The AI has Tony’s best interests at heart, and he knows he’d be called in a heartbeat if JARVIS thought there was something amiss and Bucky tries to respect that, he really does, but- but. 

He also really just wants to see Tony, to see how he’s been holding up, to know that he’s not doing anything foolish or reckless. God only knows what kind of stupid shit he got up to in there, especially without Steve there to reign him in. 

“JARVIS? Can you show me the video feed of the workshop?” 

For a second there is silence, and Bucky thinks, _this is it._ He’s finally pissed off JARVIS to the extent that the AI won’t even answer him anymore. Just as he starts to apologize to him, a fuzzy holographic image shows up in the centre of his room. The screen seems as though it’s been cracked, spidery webs of hairline cracks obscuring the footage, but Bucky can make out a figure lying prone on the ground. 

Before he knows it, he’s flying out of the door, intent on banging on the door of the workshop until JARVIS lets him in, but it turned out to be unnecessary when the doors slid back silently, just as he ran down the stairs to burst into the area. He mutters a quick but heartfelt thank you to JARVIS, before making his way through the wreckage. Glass shards were _everywhere,_ glistening at the edges, tipped with blood. Tangles of wire piled in heaps, random bits and bobs lay around the crumpled figure. 

_Tony._

Bucky strode over quickly, not bothering to step carefully around the glass (who cared, the cuts would heal before he even knew it) and picked up Tony’s body (god, there was so much _blood_ ) and walked out of there as quickly as he could. 

He brought Tony up to the penthouse, efficiently stripping him and putting him the cleanest clothes he could find. (He was pretty sure the sweatshirt belonged to Steve, honestly, and he didn’t know whether that would make Tony feel worse or better. God, this was such a mess.) He tucked Tony in under the covers, as he bent down to softly kiss his temple. He could feel the dam inside of him threatening to splinter, as he pushed back the tidal urge to just gather Tony into his arms and kiss all his worries away, make him feel better, make him realise that Steve wasn’t the only man who loved him. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and pretended to not hear the soft, plaintive cry Tony let out in his sleep as he walked away, closing the door behind him firmly. 

_“Stay.”_

___ 

Tony rubbed a hand over his face, trying desperately to keep his eyes wide open. He had so much to do - he had his armour to repair after.. what had happened, _(God, Tony, don’t be such a wuss)_ , he needed to upgrade everyone else’s armour ( _especially useless fools who liked to walk into battle with nothing but spangles on their ass)_ , he needed blueprints for the latest prototypes that were due by Friday… which, shit. “JARVIS, what day is it?” 

“It is Thursday sir, as I have reminded you thrice since this morning,” JARVIS replied snarkily, and God, where had his AI picked up so much sass? He blamed Bucky. His passive-aggressive bullshit that never failed to drive Steve up the wall ( _stop_ thinking about him, just _stop_ ) was rubbing off on his AI, and he needed to put a stop to it. Pronto. He stood up suddenly, intending to make his way down to Barnes and give him a telling off, but - was he supposed to be this dizzy? He closed his eyes, trying to balance himself, but that seemed to make the colorful spots dancing in the corners of his eyes worse. 

He sighed. Maybe it was time to get another cup of coffee.

__ 

Whistling under his breath as he pulled up schematics from his tablet, he could hear voices echoing faintly from the common area. As he got closer, he could distinguish them, and was that - oh yeah, it was. No one else could ever pull off the whiny-exasperated-and-childish tone without sounding contrived. His mood lifting slightly, he walked in through the sliding doors, just as Peter turned to him with an aghast “Mr Stark!” 

“Hiya Pete-y, give me a second, I need some coffee in me before I start fixing anyth-“ Tony pauses awkwardly in the room, as he spots the source of Peter’s distress. “Oh.” That’s really all the syllables he feels capable of emitting at the moment, at a time when he’s been accosted by Steve in his own home and he’s had less than five hours of sleep in the last seventy-two hours. 

“Mr Stark, I spent _five_ hours last weekend trying to explain to Cap what a meme is, and now he says he doesn’t _know!_ ” Peter is impossible to resist sometimes, Tony thinks to himself privately, as he rolled his eyes, walking towards the coffee pot. 

“Why does he get Cap and I’m stuck with Mr Stark?” he jokes weakly, trying to regain his bearings. Once the coffee is in his hands can he truly begin to understand the gravity of his rather unfortunate situation. He hasn’t spoken to Steve, hasn’t even seen him since their last meeting in the hospital, and now he’s here. In all his six foot muscled glory, looking unfairly spectacular as always - except for the fact that he doesn’t _remember_ , doesn’t remember when Tony had pulled him back into bed, stopping him from going on his morning run with a lazy kiss pressed against his lips; doesn’t remember when he’d made Tony get up at the asscrack of dawn just to show him how his mom had made pancakes for him and Bucky, drizzling them with copious amounts of maple syrup; doesn’t remember how Tony had skipped debriefs and meetings and _Pepper_ to get home to him when he’d had panic attacks; doesn’t remember how he took him apart and put him back together, sewing Tony up, healing him with every whispered confession of love, the intimate words pressed into the skin of his throat, his collarbones and on the insides of his thighs as Steve made love to him. 

God, he was so _tired._ All he wanted was Steve.

The sudden lull in conversation caused Tony to break out of his reverie and snap into attention, as he caught both Peter and Steve staring at him; one with a vague expression of guilt, while the other one appraised him with a level of judgement that should not be so successful. Okay, so Tony was picking up a distinct level of scrutiny, which meant he had to get his Dad Look onto his face (or what he _assumed_ passed off for a dad look - besides, none of the people in the room knew what a Dad Look was supposed to look like either, so it worked out) and send Peter away before he figured it out. 

“Tony. What’s happened to Cap?” 

Too late. Tony sighed, slouching in his seat as he rubbed a greasy hand over his face. 

“Why is it that you call me Tony only when you want answers? You need to stop spending so much time Natasha, kid, she’s rubbing off on you- ” Tony trails off as he notices the look on Peter’s face. It’s a good imitation, he grudgingly admits to himself, of Natasha’s arched eyebrow as she calls someone out on their bullshit. 

“Oh, Pete.” He exhaled softly. “I swear I didn’t want you to find out like this.” 

“Find out _what,_ Tony?” 

“Peter. Pete. Petey-pie,” he tried, and oh goody, the last one earned him a glare. “I guess you could say that he’s had meme-ory loss.” 

If he was less tired, the horror on Peter’s face would have been the funniest thing since Clint pissing himself while laughing when he found Steve (doesn’t remember, doesn’t remember, _doesn’t remember_ ) with his eyebrows singed off when he tried to use the blowtorch to make meringue. As it was, he could barely muster up a smile as Peter took in both the information and the equally appalling (but damn, that was appropriate) joke he’d made at his expense. 

Sliding out of his seat, he gave a jaunty little wave to the two of them, walking away before he could be persuaded to stay, to talk about it all, when all he wanted was Steve back. Not this version of him, the one who hated him, the one with whom he could never get along, the one who was so out-of-place in the modern world that he tried to grasp every little shred of hope that could keep him grounded in this insane reality. 

This Steve was the one who wanted, more than anything, to go back in his time, to live a life that he was meant for. He didn’t know Tony, he didn’t _love_ Tony, not the way Tony did. And somehow, even that was okay. All he wanted was for Steve to be happy, wherever he was, with whoever he was. 

_If it would make you happy,_ Tony thinks to himself, letting his head fall back with a _thunk_ on the glass walls of the elevator, _I would destroy the world for you._

He doesn’t know if that makes him a bad person. He doesn’t want to know. 

__ 

Steve is so confused. 

His brain hurts with the effort of thinking, of trying to remember, grasping for memories that _should_ be there, but instead there’s only a blank space where they should slot in. 

He knows that there’s something off with how everyone treats him. There is something that they’re not telling him, something big that he _should_ know, but doesn’t. The short stocky blond man (Clinton Barton, ex-SHIELD agent, current member of the Avengers team, archer and professional sniper, likes the color purple) had clapped his back jovially, talking his ear off a mile a minute as he came out of the hospital, only for the gleeful expression on his face to fall as Bucky explained the situation to him. 

Of course, the feeling is justified. People start to talk to him, only to realise almost immediately that he doesn’t even know them, judging by the blank smiles he gives them. It’s a little terrifying, to know that not only did the world move forward seventy years into the age of digital technology and automated speakers and robotic monsters that they supposedly fight on a daily basis, but also that he had managed to carve out his space in that same world and make himself a home, with Bucky by his side. 

_When I had nothing, I had Bucky._ His own words haunt him, day in and day out, taunting him. _I crashed a plane into the Arctic because I couldn’t handle a life without him._

He wants to go home. Once upon a time, he knew where home was. He’d wanted his old life back, he’d wanted to go back to Peggy and the Howlies and- and Howard. He didn’t want to be here. 

But here had Bucky. Here was not a place. Here was a time, and he was slowly realising that, looking out of the window and sketching the landscape that had changed so much in the last three quarters of a century.  
Even if he could go home, where was home?


End file.
